The Detective's Delima
by Gates Hale
Summary: Rose Tyler meets everyone's favorite detective, and for once, he's stumped. Through a set of strange events, they'll help each other more than they thought possible.
1. Chapter 1

Rose Tyler sighed and shifted uncomfortably in her chair. She wasn't sure why she remained there, but she did; it wasn't as if she had anything better to do. They'd made her take the day off work; a welcome break, though she wouldn't admit it. At any rate, Rose didn't know what to do with spare time. She had no friends to speak of, and her family was in Spain for some important ceremony. She stared at the people walking by, attempting to guess who they were, where they were going, anything really. Ironic, it was, given her rapt attention to her surroundings, that she completely missed the man that slid onto the bench a few feet from her. He had that effect, though, when he wanted to. So when he greeted her with a light, "Hello," Rose jumped nearly three feet from her perch.

"Oi!" she yelled. "Sorry, didn't see you there, mate."

The man glanced at all of the people who'd stopped to glance at her outburst and raised an eyebrow. "Interesting," he drawled. "You observe, yet you do not see."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You are an enigma to me, Rose Tyler."

"How do you know me?" Rose began to panic. She could fight her way out of this, yes, but she didn't want to, and this raven-haired man elicited a feeling in her she wasn't used to: curiosity. Once upon a time, Rose had devoured knowledge; she wanted to know everything. Now, however, she was solely focused on getting back, and she had no questions about anything else.

"It's obvious," the porcelain skinned man replied, "One year ago, a young woman by the name of Rose Tyler was introduced to the world as Peter Tyler's long-lost daughter. She was absolutely distraught over the loss of a dearly loved one. For a while, the media left her alone, until, that is, she took an impromptu trip to Norway, after which she came back, steadier, but still with a haunted look in her eyes. A look you share. Also, you look like her." The man smiled at this. A small smile, Rose noted. A lonely one.

"Obvious, is it?" Rose asked wryly.

"Of course."

He seemed inclined to say nothing else and leaned back, studying his surroundings.

"Is that it then?"

The man didn't reply. Instead he placed his hand before his face, fingertips touching, and closed his eyes.

"Who _are_ you?"

After a moment he replied with a frown, "Who indeed?"

Rose shook her head slightly and braced her hands on her knees, preparing to stand.

"Wait, don't leave," the man said without opening his eyes. If asked later, Rose couldn't have explained what it was that compelled her to stay at that moment. She supposed it was the almost imperceptible note of desperation in his voice, but she couldn't be sure.

"My name," he paused, presumably for dramatic effect; he seemed the type, "Is Sherlock Holmes."

"Like the books?"

"Books?" he questioned, furrowing his eyebrows, lids remaining firmly shut.

"Yeah, uh," Rose backpedaled, unsure of what to say. She hadn't made a slip like that in months. "There was a children's book series about an S. Holmes when I used to like. Guess I always thought of the 'S' as being for 'Sherlock'. Sorry." Rose laughed nervously, unconvincingly.

"You, Rose Tyler, are an impossible thing," Sherlock said, finally opening his eyes and turning towards her.

"Sorry?"

"You give the impression of being incredibly well traveled, yet you haven't left the city since Norway. You've fought many battles, are clearly a courageous person, yet you don't attempt to find a source of adventure. You've lost something, no, some_one_, and you can't get him back, but... but you can. It's impossible, but you can do it anyway. You don't like my reading you like a book, but you accept it, as if it's relatively common place, wait, no, it _isn't _common place, you're just used to strange things. Who _are_ you?"

"You've said it yourself: Rose Tyler," she shrugged noncommittally.

"Oh, yes, you're definitely Rose Tyler, but you don't make sense!" Sherlock stood suddenly and grasped at his dark curls. He began pacing wildly.

A look of surprised crossed Rose's face, but she managed to Smooth her features with relative ease. _You're talking to a madman, _she thought.

"Shut up!" the man cried, looking around restlessly.

"I didn't say anything!" Rose protested.

He waved his hand dismissively in her general direction, "Yes, but you're thinking rather loudly."

She threw her hands up in defeat and glanced around at the crowd they- no, _he_,was attracting.

Finally, Sherlock stopped pacing and dropped himself back to his seat. "Where are you _from_?" he asked.

"London, born and raised."

"Nononononononononononono. I mean _where_? Where really? Where is your home?"

_A blue box in a different dimension, _Rose thought to herself before deciding it best not to mention that. Rose gave Sherlock her best _isn't it obvious _look and hoped it'd be enough to convince him. It wouldn't be.

**Okay! I hope you like that first chapter! In case you were wondering, this is set post- Reichenbach for Sherlock and post- Doomsday for Rose. It doesn't in particularly matter when the Doctor is at this point... if it does become important, I'll either make it really obvious or explain. Otherwise... yeah. So- questions, comments, concerns, or, my favorite, suggestions! I know where this is going to end up, but I have no **_**idea **_**how I'm going to get there. So here's what I need help with: how do I get out of this conversation and to the interesting part? I would be immensely grateful if anyone had anything to say :D **


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock and Rose went on with this back and forth conversation for some time, neither of them getting any closer to finding out who- or _what_- the other person was. For Sherlock, his conflicting deductions continued to baffle him. Yes, she was from London, no, she wasn't from London, at least, not any London _he_ knew. As for Rose, her curiosity about this man grew with every word he said. He appeared to be a genius, not something Rose was unfamiliar with, but he also seemed completely mystified by Rose. She was also intrigued by the look of loneliness in his eyes. She supposed it was the way that it was completely suppressed that got her attention; after all, many people were lonely, herself prominent in that list. Everything he did suggested he _was_ completely fine, had always _been_ completely fine, and would always _be_ completely fine.

With no warning, Sherlock stopped one of his rants mid-sentence and cocked his head to the left. After a moment, his mobile went off.

"How-" Rose began, before shrugging and deciding it best not to know.

Sherlock whipped out his phone, read it for a moment, then began a rapid-fire text in reply to whatever he'd received. He stood abruptly and began to walk off with no farewell or an explanation of any kind.

"Wait! Hold on!" Rose wanted an explanation, and it didn't seem as if she was going to get one without some work.

Sherlock continued walking, but he did acknowledge her presence with a curt nod and a mumbled explanation for his leaving.

Rose caught up to him and matched his long stride, not without a bit of effort. "Where're you getting off to?"

"I have some business to attend to, so if you'll excuse me," Sherlock quickened his pace. Rose sighed but once again matched it.

Rose decided to switch tactics. "Who was that text from?"

"My brother," Sherlock answered shortly, offering no further explanation.

"Well, what did he want?"

"I have a new lead, and I really must be getting to it," Sherlock frowned and continued his quick pace.

"What are you?" Rose asked with genuine curiosity, "Some kind of policeman?"

"Consulting Detective. World's only."

At that, Rose stopped in surprise. She'd only ever read a few of Conan-Doyle's novellas, but she was almost positive that was exactly what the fictional Sherlock Holmes had called himself. She filed away not only that, but that books could come to life in different dimensions. _Good to know_, she thought wryly.

Sherlock had stopped as well and was now looking at her with a question on his lips. He didn't want to ask it, to admit defeat in understanding this strange young woman, so he bit it back and raised his eyebrows in the obvious prompt for her to continue with him. When they resumed walking, his pace was noticeably slower.

"So, you recognize my name and profession, but you don't recognize me?"

"Right," Rose confirmed.

"Interesting..."

"Why?"

"Because less than three months ago, my face was plastered over every newspaper in London."

"I don't much keep up with the news."

"No, you wouldn't, would you," Sherlock mused.

"Why's that?"

"You don't plan on staying long."

"Well, you're certainly right about that," Rose muttered.

Without Rose's noticing it, they'd entered the Metro station and Sherlock was buying a ticket. Rose followed suit; she wasn't going to let this source of interest get away.

After riding the metro for awhile, they exited into a part of London Rose was unfamiliar with. Sherlock got a cab and, upon opening the door, slid all the way to the other side, expecting the girl to get in with him. Rose was a bit surprised but only hesitated a moment before sitting down and closing the door firmly. Sherlock gave an address to the cabbie before sitting back and closing his eyes.

"Where're we going?" Rose asked.

"My brother's place," Sherlock answered, furrowing his brow.

"And that's bad because...?"

"It isn't _bad_ per say, just a bit..." Sherlock paused, searching for the right word. "Unpleasant," he decided.

The rest of the ride continued in silence until they pulled into the driveway of a large manor. Long ago, Rose would've been dually impressed, but having been to alien palaces, and currently living in a similar way, she was only a bit nervous at the sight. After being let through the gate, the cab drove up the long driveway and parked beside a fountain. Rose and Sherlock stepped out, Sherlock tossing the man a few notes as payment. He strode up to the front door and cast it open. Rose followed behind, suddenly hyperaware of her old jeans and dark red jumper. She tried to comb her fingers through her hair a bit but quickly gave up the attempt when she heard heels clicking down the hall.

A tall figure stepped into the foyer. A look of surprise and recognition crossed his face just as Rose exclaimed, "Mycroft!"

**Okay, so I figured out what to do like an hour later, but then was really tired, so I jotted it down on a piece of paper and went to sleep. I really appreciate the suggestions I got, so keep them coming! I'll try to get this fic updated pretty regularly, but who knows, I finished this pretty early this morning, and I don't have much else to do today, so... anyways, as always, reviews are greatly appreciated.**


	3. Chapter 3

_A tall figure stepped into the foyer. A look of surprise and recognition crossed his face just as Rose exclaimed, "Mycroft!" _

"Rose? How do you know Sher-" Mycroft hesitated.

Sherlock stepped forward. "She knows who I am, Mycroft. Well, sort of. I'm more interested to know how you two know each other."

"Don't you already know, dear brother?"

"Brother, I- oh, _oh_, Holmes! Mycroft _Holmes_, Sherlock _Holmes_. _This_ is your brother, Sherlock?"

"Yes, Rose. And again, how do you know him?"

"Oh, nothing interesting. Back when I was first, er, was introduced by my dad, I went to a government social event, and-"

"Mycroft was there, naturally, seeing as he _is _the British government. But why did you two have enough interaction to make a lasting impression?"

"Rose intrigued me, much as she intrigues you. You've noticed a few slips she's made, at the time, she made more, after all, it'd only been a few weeks that she'd been having interaction with anyone outside her family."

Rose shifted uncomfortably throughout Mycroft speaking.

"Rose?" Sherlock prompted.

"He wouldn't leave me alone."

Sherlock snorted derisively. "Figures," he cocked an eyebrow at his brother. Said brother shook his head and sighed.

"Anyway," Rose interrupted (although she wasn't quite sure _what_ she interrupted), "Why are we here?"

"Well I suspect you're here because you find me intriguing, rightly so. _I'm _here because Mycroft has a lead on a man I need to kill. The last man, actually, that I need to kill."

"Let's hear it then," Rose turned to Mycroft.

"This isn't for your ears, Rose," Mycroft said.

"Why? I certainly haven't got anything better to do, and I've got pretty high security clearance. Certainly higher than he has," she said gesturing to Sherlock.

"Why not, Mycroft," the uncharacteristically patient man said. "I do believe she could be useful."

Rose furrowed her brow at that statement but said nothing, instead looking pointedly at Mycroft.

After a moment, Mycroft relented. He led the two people into his sitting room and instructed a maid to bring them tea.

"Where is he?" demanded Sherlock, all polite pretenses dropped.

"Believe it or not, Cardiff."

Rose groaned involuntarily at the mention of the place.

"What's wrong with Cardiff?" Sherlock asked. "Certainly not the most interesting place, but-"

"It's nothing," Rose interrupted. "I just, uh, never mind."

Sherlock gave her a quizzical look but dropped the matter. Turning to Mycroft, he spoke. "Send me there. Now. This has gone on quite long enough."

"What is 'this' exactly?"

"'This'," Sherlock said slowly, "is the ending of Moriarty's crime syndicate. Eleven weeks ago, I faked my own death in order to track down all of the loose ends. I have one left. A man named Moran who is, apparently, in Cardiff

"Why?"

"For Jo- I mean, for the Game."

"The Game?"

"Oh, yes. A game. The Great Game. The Game which I am about to win!"

With that, Sherlock stood abruptly and stalked out of the room. Rose hastily thanked Mycroft for the tea and hastened after the tall, dark haired man. In front of the mansion was a black town car that Sherlock wasted no time getting into. When Rose wasn't immediately next to him, he stuck his head out the door.

"Coming?"

Rose smiled, "Definitely."

**Dang, that's like half of what I usually give you... sorry. I just really like where that ended. I feel bad about how late at night it is, too. My apologies, good readers. **


	4. Chapter 4

**Okay... I'm gonna do a note at the beginning today because I want to address a serious matter... thanking you amazing readers! All of you are amazing! Specifically, I want to thank Sugary-Sweet-Lemon-spy who has reviewed 3 times, kate (I'm assuming it's the same kate twice, but if it isn't then I love both of you 3) who has reviewed twice, and EmmaWood123 who also reviewed! I want to just say thank-you, everyone, readers and reviewers alike! Finally, I want to apologize. I feel so bad about leaving this so long, but unfortunately, life happens. Beyond that, I had such issues with this bit. I had to completely change how I wanted to do this because of my complete lack of knowledge of European geography. Anyway, I hope this chapter makes up for my lateness. Lots of love, Gates. **

Sherlock stared at the woman next to him for almost the entire car ride. He could deduce her just fine, but his deductions made no sense. Everything about her said she experienced so much more than an average person, but so far as he could tell, the only thing special that could have happened to her were a few posh parties. And then there was her upbringing. As hard as she tried, she was unable to convince Sherlock that she was raised with the money and culture her father's status suggested. In fact, if he didn't know any better, he'd say she'd grown up on the estates. To be fair, Rose actually did a very good job acting the proper socialite, but she stood no chance under Sherlock's scrutiny. This young woman also had changed a great deal in the year she'd been there. When she'd first shown up, her eyes had been caked in mascara and eyeliner, and her hair dyed peroxide blonde. Now however, her hair was a natural honey-mixed-with-brown color, and it was cropped far shorter. Her makeup was far more practical. Frankly, though Sherlock would say no such thing, the look suited her. More importantly was the change in her demeanor. She had gone from a hopeless lovesick child to a strong willed, determined woman in less than a year. Clearly, there had been some catalyst, but the only event Sherlock could come up with was her trip to Norway, and he failed to see how she could be changed so much by _that_.

After the long, but not uncomfortable, silence, Sherlock and Rose found themselves in the heart of Cardiff. Rose looked around, furrowing her eyebrows, unsure of why they were there. Sherlock, on the other hand, had immediately begun taking in all of their surroundings. After only a moment's hesitation, he dashed off. Rose stayed rooted to the spot until she got over her surprise. She took off after him, secretly reveling in the adrenaline coursing through her veins.

When she caught up to him, Rose asked, "Where are we going?"

"The docks!"

"Why?"

"That's where _he _is."

Rose's breath was slowly becoming more labored; she was out of practice. "Who- _exactly_- is this man?"

Sherlock answered without missing a beat. "Moran, assassin, last of Moriarty's men, the missing link to take down the syndicate, and my ticket _home_!" With the final word, Sherlock put on a burst of speed, leaving Rose struggling to keep up.

She swore under her breath at the stitch beginning to form in her side and decided to ignore it, quickening her pace to match that of Sherlock's.

After a few blocks, Rose began to wonder why they hadn't just gotten a cab. She voiced as much to the detective. He barely spared her a glance before saying something about not trusting cabbies since _A Study in Pink_. Rose shook her head slightly, wondering what on Earth _A Study in Pink _was.

In actuality, it only took ten more minutes at their full-pelt run to reach the docks, but by the time they got there, both were breathing as if they'd been running for hours. Sherlock recovered a bit before Rose and began to search for Moran. He vaguely registered her voice, but he ignored her words as he made his way to the warehouses. It only took a few moments for him to take in the scene and determine which had been in use for something other than storage. By that time, Rose had walked up behind him. On impulse, before he turned to run, he grabbed her hand. He winced internally at the contact, realizing he hadn't held someone's hand since the night he'd held John's.

Rose, on the other hand, gasped and stiffened up, eyes going wide, a grimace marring her features. She quickly pulled her hand back.

"Sorry," she muttered, looking at Sherlock's feet.

"No, I shouldn't have... I- let's just go." He had no response to her reaction. He was immensely puzzled by it, in fact. For the small amount of time he'd observed her, he hadn't noticed her shy away from human contact. He shrugged mentally and filed it away under the _Things That Don't Make Sense About Rose Tyler _file.

Rose was startled out of her thoughts about the last person she let hold her hand when Sherlock strode off purposefully towards the warehouses. She considered for a moment leaving then and there, but then decided that this was far to interesting a way to spend her day off to waste it. She followed him.

He walked until he came to a gray building with a faded red 17 painted on the side. He frowned ever so slightly, allowing a small crease to form on his brow. He stepped up to the door and slowly pushed it open. Rose followed him cautiously into the warehouse. As she stepped inside, she watched him glance around and stamp his foot in frustration.

"Not here!" Sherlock complained loudly.

"Moran?" Rose asked.

"Yes," he answered, "Mycroft's information was slow. Too slow. Moran's long gone my now."

Rose thought a moment. "Maybe there's some evidence as to where he's gone?" she asked tentatively, remembering the genius intellect of Conan-Doyle's character. She only hoped this Sherlock was as smart.

"Of course!"

Sherlock began to dart around the room in what would appear to a casual observer a series of bewildering dance steps. On occasion the relative quiet would be punctuated with a exclamation of triumph or an explicative of defeat. After three minutes of this, Sherlock returned to Rose's side. She'd watched the entire display with a slightly bemused expression on her face, waiting for the detective to finish his observations.

"I know where he is," Sherlock said decisively.

"So..." Rose prompted.

"We're going," he paused for dramatic effect, "to America!"


	5. Chapter 5

_"We're going," he paused for dramatic effect, "to America!"_

"What makes you think _I'm_ coming to America?"

"You are, aren't you?"

"Yeah," Rose sighed, shaking her head slightly.

Sherlock cocked an eyebrow expectantly, waiting for the question.

"When are we going?"

Sherlock's eyes widened in surprise. Wrong question. Nonetheless, he answered decisively,

"Tonight."

"Fine," Rose nodded and pulled out her mobile, dialing a familiar number.

"Hey... Yeah, it's fine... Uh-huh, listen, I-... Okay, but look, I want to take a week," she looked at Sherlock for confirmation. He nodded slightly, "... Yes... I don't know, have Donna take my shift... Okay, thanks." Rose returned the mobile to her pocket.

"Allons-y," she smiled

"French," Sherlock commented.

"Yeah," Rose sighed.

Sherlock furrowed his brows, working through his deductions about Rose Tyler. He still had yet to find a piece that fit her puzzle. He felt he was missing one crucial part that would reveal to him the full color picture.

A few moments later, a black sedan pulled up to them. A thin woman stepped out, not looking up from her mobile.

"Anthea," Sherlock greeted.

"I'm to take you to Cardiff International."

"Lead on," Rose said, stepping forward. Sherlock raised an eyebrow but fell into step behind her. They got into the car, followed swiftly by Anthea.

The ride passed quickly in silence. Rather than pull up to the terminal as Rose expected, the car drove onto a small side road until they reached a private runway. A small jet sat prepped and ready, waiting for its two new passengers.

Sherlock sighed. "Mycroft always was one for the dramatics." He got out of the car and strode over to the plane. Rose followed suit. He stepped up the small stairs and walked into the posh interior.

"Wow," Rose breathed.

"Thought you were used to the sort?" Sherlock questioned.

"Right, yeah, well I'm not usually aloud in the company jet, so... bit of a surprise."

"Interesting."

"So," Rose said, changing the topic, "Where are we going, exactly?"

"Arizona, Sedona, to be specific."

"What's there?"

"Moran."

"Right, and he's the one you're supposed to be finding."

"Eliminating," he said coldly.

"Right, okay."

Sherlock watched her squirm uncomfortably at the mention of killing the man. At the same time, he took note of the gun concealed in her shirt. She didn't seem in particularly bothered by it, as if she knew how to use it. So why was she uncomfortable with killing? Ah, the person she lost. He didn't approve. And yet... she was still willing to kill? Perhaps the action was easier than the idea? _Rose Tyler_, he thought, shaking his head idly. Sherlock felt the familiar thrum of the engine beneath his feet and sat in one of the chairs. Rose did the same. After a moment of silence, she spoke.

"Why Arizona?"

"You mean why do I think he's there, or why _is_ he there?"

"Why is he there?" she clarified.

"His specific reasoning, I do not know, however, he is in the habit of retreating to more desert-like environments. Sedona, however, isn't necessarily the driest location. His reasoning for choosing that location is irrelevant. The only information of importance is that he is there."

"'Course," Rose said quietly. After that, the ride lapsed into silence.

For a while, Rose watched Sherlock sit with his hand steepled in front of his face. Presently, however, she found her adrenaline draining. Rose soon gave into her fatigue and fell into a fitful rest.

_A gray mist lays heavily on the land obscuring her surroundings. She shivers violently, feeling the cold temperature seeping into her bones. Vaguely she thinks she hears the lapping of waves against rocks, but she really can't be sure; the fog is dampening all of her senses. Suddenly, she feels a vice-like grip on her wrist. She is dragged around, none too softly. A familiar voice permeates the stillness. _

_ "Rose! What have you done?"_

_ She scarcely believes her ears. "Doctor?" she calls hopefully. _

_ A shadowy figure roamed about the shadows, but Rose couldn't make out any defining features. She sensed him moving closer to her, every closer. His stance was predatory. The fog began to filter out, leaving a small clearing in the center, though the outside was as dense as ever. The figure had pulled back with the receding vapors. Rose felt overwhelming panic begin to build inside her._

_ "Who are you!" she called in a voice that sounded much stronger than she felt._

_ In response, the figure glided forward. At first, Rose was overjoyed. She saw a man with giant hair and a long brown overcoat. Then she saw his eyes. They were devoid of all emotion save one: hate. His lips were twisted in a cruel sneer, marring his beautiful features._

_ "Don't you know me?" The malevolence in his voice felt like a knife wound._

_ "What have you done with him?" she shrieked, the anguish in her voice palpable._

_ "Come now, Rose, surely you recognize me?"_

_ Suddenly, the man's attention fixed on a point behind her. Rose whipped her head back and saw Sherlock laying still, eyes wide open, staring at nothing. Forgetting, for a moment, the awful figure on the opposite side of the circle, Rose scrambled to the raven haired man. She checked for a pulse. His porcelain skin was cool to the touch, but she still found a steady thrum in wrist. Without any warning, he shot up, forcing Rose to reel back. Rather than his usual detached expression, his eyes betrayed great fear. She glanced back at the man in the brown duster. Her eyes grew wide as she noticed that not only was he far closer than before, but he had a dull silver gun aimed right towards Sherlock. His mouth formed a cruel smile. He squeezed the trigger._

_ Without thinking about it, Rose dove in front of the detective. Just before the bullet impaled itself in her chest, Rose saw her Doctor where his doppelganger had been standing previously. A horrible look of despair mixed with regret etched itself across his features. Rather than drop the gun as Rose assumed he would, he slowly brought it up. Rose felt her own lifeblood seeping away. She had just moments, now. Her Doctor turned the gun on himself. Just as she began to fade from consciousness, he pulled the trigger._

"NOOOO!" she screamed, slamming herself forward. In an effort to avoid her, Sherlock swung himself back from where he'd been watching her sleep, debating whether or not to wake her. Rose breathed heavily, trying to reign in her racing heart.

"Bad dream?" he whispered.

Rose nodded mutely.

With uncharacteristic caring, Sherlock allowed her into a comforting embrace. Rose was slightly surprised but nonetheless allowed it. After a moment her pulled back and cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"I've had my fair share of those," he said.

"Thanks."

Sherlock merely nodded and took his seat once again.

Rose began to think about her Doctor. She hadn't had a nightmare revolving around him in sometime. He was certainly in her dreams every night, but now those dreams tended to be pleasant, of them at one planet or another, all grins. She sighed. Rose had no idea what the dream meant, if anything. She shook her head to attempt to clear it of its thoughts. She glanced at the clock; they'd be in Arizona in less than an hour.

When Rose had begun dreaming, she made several noises which was what first attracted the detective's attention. He was ready to dismiss it when he saw her face. He seen that agony ridden expression before, once. On John. He remembered hearing his friend's screams in the middle of the night and racing up to his room to save him from whatever was hurting him. It turns out, it was the one thing Sherlock couldn't stop: John's own mind. He'd seen an the Doctor's tortured face and immediately woken him. They'd stayed up talking the rest of the night. He supposed that was what caused the protective instinct to kick in. He hadn't necessarily meant to hug the girl, but it seemed the only logical way of comforting her. His thoughts turned back to the night with John. He thought about everything said, all of the pointless stories told, all of the childhood experiences shared. So lost was he in these memories that he didn't even notice when the plane landed.

**Okay! So that was the longest chapter yet. It wasn't in particularly action-y or anything, but I kind of wanted to convey some emotional stuff. I guess the deal is that Rose is conflicted about helping Sherlock because she doesn't know how the Doctor would react and all that stuff. Sherlock, on the other hand, is **_**intensely**_** missing John. I know for like half a second after the dream, it kinda looked like Roselock (is that what you'd call it?) but that really isn't at all where this is headed. Sorry if you thought it was. Anyway, hope you liked it. I promised myself I wouldn't do it, but I'm going to beg a bit. Please, please review! It makes me feel all happy and fuzzy and stuff. :D But seriously, I think its awesome that you guys are even reading this. Love you all 3**


	6. Chapter 6

An hour later, they were driving in the deserts of Arizona. Phoenix was growing ever smaller in the distance. The air was dry and hot, though not so in the air conditioned rental car. They'd grabbed a bite to eat in a small Italian place before heading out of the city limits. Rose was almost surprised that, rather than one of Mycroft's employees, Sherlock was driving them. The sleek black car kicked back dust, leaving a hazy trail behind them. Rose watched the needle on the speedometer dip past 90 and stay hovering just above. She decided she rather liked this barren landscape with the craggy red mountains in the distance. Tall saguaros stood watch over the smaller brush plants, shading them from the sun's harmful rays. Rose could pick out no movement in the landscape save the air shimmering from the intense heat. Presently, the plants began to grow taller and the sand gave way to forest. The heat was still oppressive, but the rain must be far more abundant around here. They eventually began to wind their way up hills, the mountains. They passed through on city, in a valley, that stretched out before them but that they were through in the blink of an eye. Finally, they arrived in a smaller, colorful town, alive with shops, restaurants, and hotels.

Sherlock broke the hours long silence. "We need to get a room," he said, indicating a hotel off to their right.

"Yeah, okay."

Sherlock pulled the car into the parking lot and stopped, turning the engine off with a deft swipe of the key. They both got out and walked into the detached lobby. A smiling receptionist turned on them.

"Hi! Can I help you?"

"We need lodging for a week."

"Of course sir!" she seemed unfazed by his cold tone. "Let's see... Oh! You're in luck! We happen to have something. How will a room on the second floor with a king sized bed do for you two?"

"Oh!" said Rose, startled, "We're not, I mean-"

Sherlock cut her off with a glance. "That'll do just fine."

"Great!" she said, grinning, and handed them two room keys. "Enjoy your stay!"

The two left the room, Sherlock unfazed, Rose a bit dumfounded. They stepped into the open air corridor.

Rose broke the silence. "I'm not gonna- a mean, we aren't- I-" flustered, she cut herself off and promptly turned the color of her namesake.

"It's quite alright, Rose. I don't sleep."

"Sorry, what?"

"I. Don't. Sleep." Sherlock enunciated carefully.

"Everyone sleeps!" Rose snorted derisively.

"Not me. Slows down the thinking process." They proceeded up a flight of stairs.

Rose shook her head lightly. "And I suppose you don't eat, either, do you?"

"No. Waste of energy."

"I don't really follow your logic, but okay."

"Here we are," Sherlock said, indicating a room to their left. He unlocked the door and threw it open with a small flourish.

Rose rolled her eyes at his antics and followed him in. It was a spacious room with one large bed, a television set, and a desk. Her eyes alit on three doors. One for the bathroom, one for the closet, and one for... what? She strode over to it and swung it open, revealing a balcony with a breathtaking view of red mountains and the forests in the valley. She smiled faintly, remembering a pant she'd visited not incredibly long ago (and yet a lifetime all the same) with similar mountains, the only difference being that those had thrust their ways thousands of feet in the air, dominating the landscape.

She turned and walked back inside, only to find that Sherlock had commandeered every flat space, including the bed, for papers, pictures, and maps. How he'd done that in so short a time, Rose would never know.

"Right, I'm going to take a shower," she announced, "and then, we are going out to eat."

"But you ate three hours ago!" he whined.

"Yes, well I'm hungry again," she cocked an eyebrow. "Problem?"

Sherlock muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like cursing the human desire to eat and waved his hand towards the bathroom dismissively. Rose snatched up her purse and stepped inside.

Half an hour later she emerged, fully dressed in new clothes, hair wrapped in a towel. She'd applied light make-up, but nothing in particularly extraordinary.

"You carry a change of clothes in your purse?"

"Someone taught me it was always best to be prepared for any situation that may emerge," she said confidently.

"Quite so."

"So what are you looking at here?"

"Everything connected to Moran. I'm missing one _vital _detail!" He scrunched his fists in his hair and began pacing back and forth.

"Come on," Rose said soothingly, "Let's go grab dinner and clear your head, then maybe you'll figure it out."

"Fine," Sherlock said gruffly.

Rose smiled and led the irritated detective from the room down towards the lobby.

Sherlock stood off to the side and observed Rose converse with the overly peppy receptionist. She asked a question, presumably desiring a decent place to eat. The girl giggled and responded, pulling out a sheet of paper and scrawling directions. Rose nodded her thanks and turned to collect Sherlock. She held out her hand expectantly.

"Keys," she said.

"I'll drive."

"Give me the keys."

Sherlock was tempted to argue, though he didn't know why. He shook his head and handed over the keys. _The polite thing to do, _John would've said. But John wasn't here. Sherlock had to continually remind himself of this, painful though it be. _All for him_. He'd repeat this mantra over and over again, pushing himself forward.

Rose was mildly surprised he hadn't put up a huge fight, but she certainly wasn't going to challenge it. She got in on the driver's side (the wrong side, she frowned) and motioned for Sherlock to join her. He stepped gingerly into the passenger side.

"I'm sure you've already deduced it-"

"Didn't put forth the effort," he cut her off.

Rather than being deflated as he'd expected Rose to be, she smiled cheekily and said, "Good. It'll be a surprise."

With that, she turned the key and put the car in drive. Sherlock shook his head lightly. This girl was surprising him at every turn. In a way, she was like Moran. He was missing one key detail on her as well, and it was driving him mental. He knew if he could it in that one piece, he'd have the entire picture, but for now, she'd remain, well, puzzling. Though he'd never admit it, Sherlock found the mystery surrounding her a bit refreshing. Both because she wasn't Moran, and because he had _to get to know her_. He hadn't had to do that since- well, ever. This girl was an anomaly, and Sherlock was intrigued.

**Okay, this is actually relatively long, but I really didn't get quite to where I wanted to be with it... guess I got a bit wordy, so I'm splitting this bit up. I'm really sorry about that, because I was going to **_**finally**_** get to the interestingly exciting and such part D: So, I guess a filler/setting the scene chapter is better than nothing... right? Anyway, Sedona- why I picked there: a) I was there last summer and it was a lovely place :) 2) no, b) no actually, I don't have another reason. Anyway, I hope I'm doing the descriptions justice, I really loved Arizona. (Also, the times/distances going place to place are really off, so don't use this to plan any trips anytime soon. The landmarks should be right, though :P) I think there'll probably be some description thrown in with the action-y stuff. Also, I want to apologize for lateness, life got in the way **_**again**_**! It's so rude like that... anyway, I'll try to get the next one up by the end of the week, but no promises, so fingers crossed. Finally, I want to thank all of you reviewers so much, I feel so great when I log on and see another! So there. I'm done now... Bye.**


	7. Chapter 7

They arrived at the small restaurant, and Rose stepped out of the car excitedly, practically bouncing in her shoes. Of course, as soon as she took note of this, she frowned and stopped. She hadn't been so... _happy_ with anything since she died. Something they had in common, she reflected wryly. Both she and Sherlock had 'died'. Not something she'd ever expect to find a connection with.

Sherlock slammed the passenger door. He didn't know what he'd expected to find, but this certainly wasn't it. He cocked an eyebrow at the sight. A large neon sign stated the they were at the _Red Planet Diner. _Sherlock viewed the building with mild interest- it certainly wasn't a conventional restaurant, but then, Rose certainly wasn't a conventional girl.

"Well, come on!" she said, practically bounding towards the restaurant. Sherlock followed her, slightly amused at her large grin.

Rose tried to keep herself in check, but found that all of _this _was far too exciting to be indifferent. The thrill of traversing the globe, fighting the bad guys, and going to crazy American diners was just amazing. Rose felt more alive than she had in ages. She entered the restaurant grinning madly.

The entire place was bathed in a dull red glow, and stereotypical aliens adorned the walls. Off to the side stood a tall green alien.

"It's all very Spock, isn't it," Rose giggled.

"Spock?"

"Oh, come on, you know, Spock! _Star Trek_!" At his blank look, Rose laughed even harder, her grin threatening to split her face in two. With a start, Rose recognized the warm feeling spreading through her limbs- she was _happy_. Nothing compared to her Doctor, of course, but for once, Rose was feeling cold and depressed in everything she did. It felt _fantastic._ "Come on!" Rose dragged Sherlock by the arm over to a waitress who seated them in another room.

Sherlock followed obligingly, blinking several times in confusion. Perhaps he _should _catch up on pop culture a bit. He certainly hadn't ever heard of this _Star Trek. _His reverie was interrupted by Rose's loud guffaw. She pointed somewhere behind him.

"Spock!"

He turned to see a rather large ceramic bust of a man in blue with pointed ears. This café was proving interesting indeed.

The waitress came to take their orders. Rose put herself down for 'Space Shrooms' and 'Cosmic Clam Chowder', trying not to laugh at the names as she said them. Sherlock made to decline ordering when she grabbed his wrist.

"Oh, no, you're not getting out of here without eating!"

"But I-"

"Absolutely not! He'll have the, ah..." she looked down at her menu. "Ah! He'll have the Moonloaf!" Rose dissolved in a fit of giggles.

"Okay, I'll be back with that in a few minutes, anything to drink?" The waitress asked grinning.

"Just- just-" Rose began giggling again.

"Two waters," Sherlock intervened.

The waitress smiled again and left, orders in hand.

"Why am I having _Moonloaf_?" Sherlock asked.

"I thought- I thought it sounded funny," she managed finally.

"Obviously," Sherlock raised his eyebrow.

Rose found herself in another fit of giggles, almost until their meal came. She finally calmed and drank some of the water Sherlock had requested. The meals were brought out, and Rose dug hungrily into hers. Sherlock just stared petulantly at his food. Noticing his expression Rose spoke.

"Oh, come on, then, eat!"

"No."

"Yes!"

"Eating slows the thinking process."

"_Eating _provides energy."

"I'm not going to eat it."

"Fine," Rose shrugged, not willing to push the matter.

Ten minutes later was when things really got interesting. A loud crash resounded from the kitchen. Muffled curses were thrown, and then another crash. The silence. Both Rose and Sherlock were immediately on their feet, meals half eaten and uneaten forgotten. A figure burst from behind the bar, vaulting it and landing on one of the tables. He glanced around wildly, as if looking for an escape route. He turned towards the unlikely pair. Sherlock inhaled sharply.

"Moran?" Rose asked.

"Yes," he hissed through clenched teeth. Instantly his demeanor had changed from slightly rude and a bit chilly to one of white hot fury and hatred. Rose had only ever seen this look on one person before. Her Doctor. When she'd first met the Daleks. It terrified her.

Sherlock shot towards Moran who jumped from the table, knocking a waiter to the side. Rose brought out her gun from its place of concealment and dashed after Sherlock, dodging in and out of screaming patrons. Moran had pulled a gun as well and was now leveling it at Sherlock. His finger twitched on the trigger creating a deafening boom. Sherlock twisted out of the way of the bullet. If the bystanders had been scared before, now they were hysterical. The bullet ricocheted off a steel beam, finally coming to rest. burying itself in a man's leg. He screamed in pain, but it was lost in the other shouts of terror and panic.

Rose had fought her way behind Moran and dove at his feet, shouting a warning to Sherlock as she did so. She slammed into him, bringing the both of them to the floor with a resounding _crash! _Rose rolled away and Sherlock jumped on top of Moran, pinning his wrists to the ground. With a sudden bucking motion, he flipped their positions, pressing Sherlock's ace to the ground and twisting his arm painfully behind his back.

Without their noticing, most of the patrons and customers had fled the place. Rose pointed her gun at Moran. "Get up," she hissed.

Moran turned his head and, seeing the gun, stood slowly. Sherlock jumped up after him, giving Rose a look that said, _he's mine_. Rose nodded almost imperceptibly but continued keeping her gun pointed at the criminal.

"Sebastian Moran," Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the man, the raw hatred leaking from therein.

"Sherlock Holmes," he sneered. "And who's your new pet?"

"Name's Rose Tyler, and I've got a gun pointed at your head, so I'd be careful what you say."

Moran smiled wolfishly. "Oh, but you won't shoot me. He wants to finish me off, and you dear, you don't _want _to shoot me."

Rose frowned. "Don't be so sure."

Sherlock stood off to the side watching the exchange, preparing himself for his final execution. Moran had no way out now. It was finally over.

"But," Moran taunted, "_he _wouldn't approve, would he?"

"Who? What human being wouldn't appreciate my removing you filth from this planet?"

"Who said anything about human?" Moran paused for dramatic effect. "Bad Wolf."

The gun clattered to the floor.

**DUHN DUHN . Quite the twist, amiright? And now you're gonna have to wait! So let me tell you a bit about this chapter. The Red Planet Diner is **_**a real place**_**! It is so cool, I can't even. So that's what I'm telling you about this chapter. I'm relatively sure that's the first time I've ever written a cliff hanger. Did I do alright? Oh, and I want to address one thing. It kind of occurs to me that Sherlock not being incredibly argumentative is really OOC, but the way I see it is Sherlock tries to be the person John would want to be while he's gone, so while some bad habits still remain (no eat, no sleep :P) he's trying to be 'nicer', not that it's entirely working. I think a great deal of it also has a lot to do with the fact that Rose is used to dealing with a genius *coughcoughDOCTORcoughcough*so she knows how to push back, and Sherlock knows this. Just thought I'd explain that bit. Okay, I'm done talking now... Oh! Except: Reviews make me feel warm and fuzzy and when I feel warm and fuzzy I get hot, so I turn on the fan, and the fan houses secret creativity endorphins that enter through my ears and fill me with the intense need to add to chapters to Wholock stories. So, you know. Okay, I'll level with you, none of that's true, but I put, like, a whole ten seconds of thought into that, so I think you should review. **


	8. Chapter 8

**M'kay, Get ready to hate me...**

John Watson stood quietly in his kitchen, sipping his tea, wishing he had something stronger. A lot stronger. He'd never drank much, given his family's predisposition alcoholism, but he felt if ever, today would be an exception. It had been three months, to the hour, and John was tired. Tired of the sympathy, tired of the casseroles he still had a month left of in the fridge, but mostly tired of Sherlock being gone.

Now was one of his few moments of solitude. There were almost always people with him, be it Greg, Sarah, Molly, Mrs. Hudson, even Mycroft once. That hadn't gone well. John suspected there was a general unspoken rule: _keep John from being alone, keep John from doing anything stupid_. He knew they were all afraid he was suicidal. He wasn't, not really, anyway. He'd certainly _thought_ about it, but something in him always whispered _Sherlock wouldn't approve. _It was really a ridiculous notion, given his own demise, but John was willing to listen. No, he wouldn't kill himself, not now. Perhaps one day there would be a tipping point, the proverbially straw that breaks the camel's back. John doubted it. If he'd made it this far, there was no reason he could push on through anything. No reason at all. If nothing else, John Watson was a fighter.

He glanced at the clock. Ten minutes 'til. He fished through a drawer and pulled out a small silver disc. He placed it in a small player, as he had every month before, as he would every month after. His tea lay forgotten and cold by the sink, any taste it had left in it turned bland by the chill. John stared at the wall, not moving, not speaking. Thoughts poured through his head, but he took no time to analyze them, simply allowing them to take their places for a moment, then slip silently away, forgotten within the minute. Once again he looked at the clock, he stared intently, trying to make sense of the numbers and lines, eventually determining there were but three minutes remaining.

He saw blue- no, gray- no wait, green- no, all of them, he saw a pair of eyes with every color churning and mixing in ways that shouldn't work, but that, in reality, make the most beautiful thing John had ever seen. Those eyes... they hadn't left him alone, not since he'd seen them cloud over, the intelligence that usually shone in them fading to nothing, not since... no. One minute. John placed his hand lightly over the 'play' button, as was his tradition. Ten seconds. Five. One. He pressed the button.

Violin music filtered through the speakers. It was of poor quality, grainy and quiet, even with the volume turned up high. Sherlock hadn't even known John was recording it, not at first, anyway. He'd been playing a beautiful piece, completely lost in his thoughts. John had pulled out his phone and begun saving the euphonious sounds emitting from the quivering strings. He remembered Sherlock opening his eyes suddenly, catching John in the act. John had blushed furiously, and was making to stop the recording when Sherlock grabbed his wrist. He'd met those azure eyes, now alit with the smile playfully tugging at the corners of Sherlock's lips.

_"John,"_ the baritone voice echoed out of the speakers. He remembered a small quirk of his eyebrow. _"You'll get a much better recording if you stand next to me, instead of around the corner."_

_ "Yes, I suppose so," _John had mumbled.

For the next thirty minutes, John stood centimeters from Sherlock, recording the astonishingly beautiful melodies Sherlock drew from the wooden instrument. The recording got better at that point. As the music finally stopped, John sighed.

_"John, why did you want to record that?"_

_ "Because you don't hear it."_

_ "Sorry?"_

_ "When you're thinking," _he'd clarified_, "You don't hear yourself playing. It's so... incredible, you deserve to know what- what you, er, sound like?" _He'd finished weakly, making in sound like a question.

Sherlock had simply stared at him a moment before doing what was the most surprising thing he could've possibly done: he pulled John into a hug. He'd buried his head in the crook between John's shoulder and neck. John wasn't positive Sherlock knew what he was doing, but nonetheless hugged him back. All too soon, Sherlock had pulled back. Looking John in the eye, he spoke.

_"Thank you."_ The recording ended. John dropped his head into his hands, muffling the sobs that wracked his entire body. Many hours later, he would fall asleep, curled in on himself, in that same chair, wrapped in his own misery.

The Doctor whipped himself around the TARDIS console, acting for all intensive purposes like nothing was wrong. If someone were to walk in, right then and there, they'd only notice that the place was bigger on the inside. Of course, that's all that anyone noticed, but the point was, there was no outward sign of his inner turmoil. This was quite possibly because it had been forced down so far, buried so deep. locked away _so _tight, he almost didn't feel it. Almost.

Another companion gone. One more heart than he could afford was broken. Frankly, it was a wonder he was still on his feet. Any lesser man than he might've collapsed on the spot. Not him. He just kept moving, running, _sprinting. _He couldn't afford to confront the past. It was slightly problematic actually, but he chose to ignore the emotions that occasionally bubbled to the surface, ignore the outbursts that could mean the end of a civilization. Of course he needed someone to stop him! How could he not? But, dammit, he didn't need Martha, not really. It wasn't that she wasn't a lovely girl, she was. Brilliant, in fact. But there was a problem. One single, infinitesimal problem that, perhaps, if he tried very hard, he could ignore. She wasn't _her_. Who was he kidding? He could never ignore that.

He ran his fingers over the living machine's surface, feeling the warm pulse beneath. Sighing, the Doctor took a step back. He ran his hands through his already mussed hair, trying to draw out his thoughts, trying to block the onslaught of emotions he knew was coming, tried to-

His entire thought process was interrupted by a small beeping the echoed from the opposite end of the control room. He ambled over to it and proceeded to take down readings and measurements and the sort.

"Interesting..." he mused.

He look at it more, surveying individual energy signatures, looking at the patterns of plasma intake. A spatial anomaly. He loved spatial anomalies. Problems forgotten for a moment, he resumed his dance around the console, flipping switches, turning wheels, and generally hitting things.

With one final flourish and the thrust of a lever, he shouted, "Allons-y!" and was off.

John sat with his hand wrapped around a mug of steaming tea. He tried to push away the nightmares of the night before, wanting nothing more than to sink into the inky darkness of unconsciousness without dreams. It seems, however, that wouldn't be allowed. There came suddenly an knock at his door. Curious as to whose turn it was to babysit, John answered the door.

His voice rang with shock as he spoke the only name he knew to the face in front of him. "Anthea?"

**Ack, I'm sorry, I did it again! I really didn't mean to, it just kinda happened... Sorry for leaving you on two totally separate , you know, I had to visit the good Doctors :D I'll attempt another chapter before Monday, but you know... anyways... I need to clarify the timing of all of this, more for my own sake than for yours, but still. Contrary to what I may or may not have said earlier (I really can't find it) I kind of see this as being the third day. Here's my timeline. Day 1: Rose meets Sherlock, they see Mycroft, drive to Cardiff and such. This all ends relatively late at night. Day 2: mostly spent flying, a little bit in the Phoenix airport. Day 3: Hotel and Red Planet Diner and also exactly 3 months since Sherlock's death. The Doctor is somewhere before Donna and after Martha. Where ever, really. Um... Oh! I don't know why I have the desire to mention this, but I really want to, so there. I listened to the entire Wicked soundtrack while writing this (ie Time and Effort) so if I accidentally quoted something... oops. And once again, because I am truly, deeply grateful, THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH. I just want to cry when I read your reviews (except I'm usually around other people, so that's be a bit awkward...) because you make me so happy. I'm just so glad you're all enjoying this. I almost didn't write it, just because I only wanted to read it. But it didn't already exist, so here we are now. So just... thank you all, readers, reviewers, favoriters, followers. So much.**


	9. Chapter 9

_"Who? What human being wouldn't appreciate my removing you filth from this planet?"_

_ "Who said anything about human?" Moran paused for dramatic effect. "Bad Wolf."_

_ The gun clattered to the floor._

Rose took in a sharp breath. Her eyes went wide and her posture stiffened. She tried to break through the mental fog that threatened to settle on her mind, finally gaining the ability to speak.

"How- how can you know..." she let the question dangled.

Moran grinned wolfishly. "That, my dear, is not information for your ears!" With that, he leapt into action. He dashed out the door and into the parking lot.

Sherlock followed closely behind him, and Rose, though belatedly so, made herself chase after the detective, gun forgotten on the ground. Moran hopped into a red Mercedes-Benz convertible and jammed the key in the ignition. The engine roared to life as Sherlock pulled a revolver from his coat, sending three bullets in quick succession at the wheels. One glanced off the pavement and two buried themselves in the car's body.

The car moved quickly from its space. Sherlock cursed loudly and ran toward his and Rose's vehicle. Said girl remained standing mutely on the sidewalk. Her hands trembled and her eyes blinked rapidly, as if she was attempting to process a whole slew of information.

"ROSE!" Sherlock shouted to break her reverie. It seemed to do the trick. She shook her head and appeared to become more alert. "Get in the car!"

Rose did as she was told, sprinting over and throwing herself into the passenger seat. Sherlock started the car and sped out of the lot, pressing the pedal to the floor and heading back towards Phoenix.

"What was that!" He spat viciously.

Rather that responding, Rose buried her face in her hands, attempting to stave off the sobs threatening to surface.

"You let him go, Rose!" Sherlock practically screamed.

Rose gulped and appeared to regain some of her composure. She made no attempt, however, to stop the tears that now spilled relentlessly from her eyes. "Sherlock..." she said quietly.

"What! What could you possibly have to say to me?" His tone was laced with cold fury.

Rose cringed, but continued nonetheless. "You are going to have to be strong. And adaptable. And something you've never had to be. Wrong."

Sherlock sneered but kept his eyes locked on the road.

"Sebastian Moran is," Rose took a breath before finishing. "Not human."

"No, of course he isn't. He's a blood thirsty killer without a human bone in his body. Any humanity he may have possessed has been long since stripped of him." The contempt with which he said these words was almost palpable.

"You don't understand. He. Is. Not. _Human_."

"Rose, what are you _talking_ about?"

"I'm not from here. I'm from another London, another Earth, another _universe. _For a long time I travelled with a man called the Doctor. He's an alien, from the other dimension. He can change his face. But leading up to that, I spread two words across all of time and space as a way to call myself back to him. Those words were 'Bad Wolf'. The only way Sebastian Moran could know those words is if he was from my universe. And humans don't have the capability to cross the void anymore."

Rose waited for Sherlock to answer. For a moment, he simply stared straight ahead, knuckles white on the wheel. Finally he spoke.

"Oh. That explains... a good bit, actually. What _is_ he, then?"

"I don't know. The Doctor would..."

"Oh! He's the one- _oh_. I get it! Oh, yes, this is interesting!"

With that, his mood flipped around, leaving Rose in a state of emotional whiplash.

They caught up with the sports car presently, enough to see where it was going. Sherlock pushed their vehicle to go faster, pedal almost against the floor. They sped through traffic signals, weaving through the minimal Tuesday evening traffic. They passed back through the valley city and into the mountains. Both cars raced around turns at speeds that should have thrown them into the gorges below but somehow didn't. The landscape quickly left behind the trees for bushes and grasses, the mountains for rolling hills. Even that eventually passed and they were in the barren desert again. Without any warning, Moran pulled from the road and into the red sand, kicking up dust in his tracks. Sherlock followed suit.

"Rose, reach into the back and grab my gun."

Rose did as she was told.

"Get one of his tires."

Rose opened the window and leaned out, taking aim with her shaky hands. She pulled the trigger. And missed. Completely. She took a deep breath and once again cocked the gun. This time, the bullet buried itself in the side of the car. She cursed quietly and aimed a third time. Just as she tightened her finger, they hit a bump, causing the bullet to fly into Moran's windshield. The glass shattered, blowing itself back at the driver. He shoved on the brakes and turned his car into the motion, attempting to stop it. Sherlock spun their own car so they wouldn't hit the convertible.

Sherlock jumped from their car with Rose only a second behind, her earlier discomfort about the Bad Wolf comment shoved to the back of her mind. Moran met them in the clearing dust. Sherlock charged him, shedding his jacket as he ran. He ran full pelt into the man, knock the both of them to the ground. The grappled, each trying to earn the advantage.

"Make... sure he can't leave!" Sherlock shouted the blonde.

Rose pulled the keys from the cherry colored car. She began to search it for alien technology that could allow the criminal to escape. She ignored the scuffle until she heard Sherlock cry out. Rose whipped around, gun immediately trained on the two men.

Moran had the genius around the neck with a gun pressed to his temple.

"It seems we've come to an impasse," Moran whispered. No other noise was present. The light was slowly fading. the burnt orange sun dipping below the horizon. Soon, there would be no way for Rose to shoot accurately. Moran had all the time in the world. "If you pull that trigger, I'll kill him. On the other hand, I just have to wait until you can't see to finish this."

Rose stared at him, trying to think of what to do. _Keep him talking, Rose _a voice in the back of her head said. It was what the Doctor would do. "Okay..." she said. "Just explain to me this. How did you know about the 'Bad Wolf' thing? I mean, how did you know it was me."

"Rose, dear, anyone would recognize you. I'm from Delston 5. Perhaps you've met one of my species before? I doubt it. Even if you had, you wouldn't have known. We're parasitic. Kill our host, feed off their life force, eat their timelines, a bit like the Weeping Angels, if that helps. Have you met them?" At Rose's blank look, he continued. "Perhaps not. At any rate, we take our host's form. I've had this body for ten years, and I must say, I'm quite fond of it. I don't want to leave, so I suppose that gives us a problem."

"I still don't understand how you crossed the Void."

Sherlock's eyes darted back and forth, attempting to work out a plan, in a weakness in his attacker. The man's stone grip never weakened in the slightest.

"Ah, you see, when we haven't taken a form, our bodies are pure energy. Thought, if you will. Just consciousness. We can go anywhere, even alternate universes. But it's boring. We can't interact. It seems you've run out of time. Miss Tyler," the alien grinned.

The sun dipped below the horizon and a shot rang out.

**I just can't help it with the cliffies. Sorry. Except not really :P I am, however, **_**incredibly **_**sorry for how long this took. I've been really busy and just haven't had time to sit down and right. Actually, I don't have time right now, but whatever. You guys are amazing! I guess there'll be 2-3 more chapters. Perhaps I'll surprise you yet!**


	10. Chapter 10

**My sincere apologies for the wait. I know, I have issues. This chapter is dedicated to NerdoftheWorld whose review motivated me to get off my lazy arse and write this. The sad bit, is I've know exactly how this was going to go (bar some as yet minor details) but I just wouldn't write it. So, I kinda feel like I have to add this, even though it seems a bit obvious to me. I have a warning at the bottom, but it gives away MAJOR plot details, and it really isn't graphic or anything, so, you can read it if you want, but I doubt you'll care, so I **_**really **_**wouldn't. Anyway... I have to say, I was a little disappointed with the response to the last chapter, so I hope I've made this one a bit better. Love you all 3 ~Gates**

"Sherlock!" Rose cried, aware that her own gun had not been the one to fire.

There was a dull _thud!_ from where Rose knew Sherlock to be standing, accompanied by a loud grunt. "M'alright," came the deep baritone.

"Thank god!" Rose rushed over to the detective, taking care not to trip on the uneven ground in the darkness. She fumbled in her back pocket and withdrew a small pen-light. She switched it on and was met with the sight of Sherlock pinned to the ground by Moran's unmoving figure.

"Good shot," Sherlock complemented.

"What do you mean?" Rose asked, helping the detective push Moran off.

"That was a good shot," he indicated Moran's head wound, a neat hole right in the cent of the forehead.

"Sherlock..." Rose showed him the gun, shots unfired. She swallowed visibly. "I thought _you _did something.

He shook his head lightly. "Then how-" he cut himself off abruptly when he saw a shadowy figure approaching them. "Turn around, Rose."

Rose stood. "Who are you?" she demanded.

"A friend," came a low male voice.

"A name would be lovely," Rose frowned.

"It's- it's alright," Sherlock whispered, standing slowly. He took a few steps forward until he could make out a face in the dim light.

"You bloody idiot," John Watson grinned, throwing his arms around the raven haired genius.

Sherlock returned the embrace wholeheartedly. "John... How...?" He let the question hang.

"Does it really matter?" the shorter man asked.

"No... not at all." Sherlock breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of his best friend.

"I missed you, Sherlock. I missed you so much."

A few tears made their way out of Sherlock's eyes, finding a resting place in John's blonde locks. After a few moments, he pulled back.

"Don't you ever do that to me again!" John yelled, demeanor changed as quickly as the light had fallen in the desert. He landed a punch across Sherlock's jaw (through admittedly, it wasn't nearly as hard as Sherlock had expected).

Rose had wisely assumed this wasn't a moment for her ears and had stepped away but nonetheless had heard that. Obviously this man was important to Sherlock, but who- oh. _Oh. _John. John _Watson. _Rose suppressed a disbelieving chuckle, realizing she was witnessing the reunion of the most infamous pair in literature.

Sherlock rubbed his jawbone, glad that John had again taken the care to miss his teeth and nose.

"I'm so, so sorry, John," he breathed.

"Oh, come 'ere you clot!"

Sherlock stepped back over to his friend and took the doctor's face in his hands. "John..." he began.

"Stop talking," John whispered.

He stood on his tip toes and planted a warm kiss on the detective's lips. Sherlock returned the kiss without hesitation, deepening it into something more passionate. John's hand tangled itself in Sherlock's midnight curls. In lieu of the need for air, the two broke apart after a minute.

"John."

"Yes?"

"I love you." Sherlock leaned his forehead against John's.

"Sherlock."

"Yes?"

"I love you, too." John resumed the kiss, pulling Sherlock impossibly closer to him.

The Doctor held on to the consol with all his might as the TARDIS bucked and heaved. The gravity stabilizers had tanked minutes before, leaving him dangling by his forearms with no promise of a soft landing.

"Come on, Old Girl," he urged, willing the TARDIS to get to her destination unscathed. He heard the cloister bell warning of an imminent landing and tightened his grip (if at all possible), praying silently to no one in particular that he would make it out of this alive.

After talking quietly with him for several minutes, John grabbed Sherlock's hand and led him over to the girl he had come to know as Rose.

He stuck out his hand politely. "John-"

"Watson, I know," Rose smiled warmly.

He turned to Sherlock. "I thought you said-"

"I told her nothing of you," Sherlock smirked.

"Dear God there're two of you," he said in mock-horror, placing his face in his hands. "How on _Earth _could you possibly know my name?"

"Not on Earth, per-say." Rose suppressed a grin.

"What?"

Rose addressed Sherlock. "You didn't tell him, then?"

"Tell me what?" John exclaimed.

"The long version, this time," Sherlock added.

Rose proceeded to explain where she was from, who she'd traveled with, and how she'd come to be stuck in the universe Sherlock Holmes and John Watson called home.

"Wow..." John breathed, scarcely sure he believed her fantastic tale. However, he knew Sherlock did, so he was prepared to trust her.

They sat quietly, each immersed in his or her own thoughts. Sherlock pressed himself tightly up against John, as if afraid he would disappear.

Making a mental note to thank Mycroft (for John had explained how Anthea had brought him to the airport and sent him to Sherlock in a private jet, briefing him along the way on Sherlock's whereabouts and what he'd been doing for the past months.), Sherlock considered the strange adventures that had led him to this moment in time. He began to wonder about- all of a sudden, a loud noise came from nowhere and everywhere, screeching and clattering. All three parties stiffened in surprise, but where John and Sherlock only registered it as noise, silent tears had begun to stream down Rose's cheeks.

"WHAT IS IT?" John yelled over the roar.

"Engines," Rose whispered, voice inaudible.

Slowly, a dark blue box of sorts began to materialize, surprising the two gentleman to no end.

Rose fell to her knees, mouthing the only word of importance to her. _Doctor._

Nothing Happened.

**WARNING: Fluffy Slash-y pairings that aren't graphic because I didn't write it that way. Really not worthy of a warning if you ask me :/**


End file.
